they say seasons turn in time (theirs are changing, why won't mine?)
by unknownbananna
Summary: A loud voice, a raised hand. After his return from Skandia, Will flinches away from Halt and is surprised by a promise.


**Takes place any time after Halt and Will are reunited in book 4—can be set during book 4, after they return home, whenever you're vibing with. I desperately wanted something like this in the books. Halt is a little more talkative and touchy than in canon but I wanted to imagine this conversation happening with a Will who's really suffering from what's happened to him, so this is how it went.**

—

Face down, eyes down, mouth shut. Seen and not heard.

"Will."

His name.

"Look at me, please."

Slowly, Will's eyes traveled up to meet Halt's. They were familiar: dark, intense, steely with resolve, but gentle, always gentle for the people Halt chose. They were gentle now as his mentor spoke. "Will. I need you to listen to me. I swear to you that I will never raise a hand against you. I will never strike you, under any circumstance. You are my apprentice and I have taken an oath to protect you with everything I have. Listen to me, Will—there is nothing you could do that would drive me to such an action. Nothing."

_Nothing._

Will frowned. His eyes darted back and forth. Halt didn't believe in wasting words, he knew, and rarely if ever spoke what he didn't mean. But the world Will had grown so used to living in...

"But nothing—. What if—Halt, I know—I'm going to mess up. A lot."

Will hadn't even realized he had returned to his familiar posture (face down, eyes down, mouth shut) until he felt careful fingers under his chin lifting his head so that his eyes were once again level with Halt's. "Of course you will," his mentor chided. But his tone was gentle and fond, the lines around his eyes soft, and Will knew that he was teasing. "Or have you already forgotten all our days in Redmont? Will, I am under no illusions about your capabilities—you're only human, like the rest of us, and what's more you're a boy. An apprentice. You're meant to still be learning. I have high standards and I expect you to strive to meet them, but I certainly have never expected you to be perfect. Don't forget, I have raised an apprentice before—I certainly haven't forgotten what Gilan was like in his more foolish days." Against his will, Will felt a corner of his mouth twitch upward in a half-smile. But the mention of his older friend brought its own burning question with it, and Will's brow furrowed as he wondered how to ask it without causing offense.

His question must have been obvious from his face, because Halt answered it. "No, Will. I never once struck Gilan, even at his most foolish. And my oath extends to him as well. The only reason I would ever lift a hand against either of you is if someone had you, or him, and was threatening worse harm to you if I did not."

"What if they're threatening you?"

"Then they can have me." There was a brisk, uncompromising firmness in Halt's tone that took Will aback. "I mean it, Will."

Will swallowed.

"It's not—it's not that I doubt that," he said. Compared to his mentor's firm speech the words sounded clumsy even to his own ears. Like a child learning (re-learning) to speak. "It's not even that I truly think you would hit me. I trust you. More than anyone. It's just that—" that what? _That I was taught to know my place? That I wasn't permitted to speak? That no work was done well or quickly enough to satisfy? That for months I was more likely to get the whip than to get dinner? That it was all I knew?_

Will was quiet.

Halt sighed, heavy and full of sorrow. "I'm sorry you had to suffer that," he said, and Will knew that he meant it.

Suddenly drained, Will slumped into Halt's side, feeling his mentor's arm come up and around his shoulder in a familiar gesture of comfort. More than once he'd cried himself to sleep in the Hallasholm slavehouse, cold and hungry and missing home more than anything. He'd never imagined that having it back again would be so hard.

But this was familiar. For all his mentor's prickly exterior, Will was no stranger to his arms. To being protected and held. Halt's hand, calloused from years of knifework and archery, was gentle where it rested over Will's scarred back.

Will closed his eyes. "I trust you," he repeated. Halt's thumb moved in a steady back-and-forth over Will's shoulder.

"I know."

—

**Title is from "Winter in my Heart" by The Avett Brothers. If you liked it, drop a review :) thank you for reading!**


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